When is it time to stop researching and to start writing again? For me, it’s a question I try to be mindful of while madly clicking away and taking notes and cutting and pasting and making lists.
The point came for me today when I realized I was way too deep into Jack Kerouac for no reason other than the fact that he has always interested me. Oh, and the slight fact that he died in St. Pete around the time Rose & Belinda are in the area.
Wiki says that “throughout most of the ’50s, Kerouac was constantly trying to have his work published, and consequently he often revised and re-arranged manuscripts in an often futile attempt to interest publishers” which is the exact opposite of the writing advice he gave others, among which was to try to only get drunk in your own house, and to smoke pot, like Proust.
Kerouac had better writing ideas than staying stoned; some that reminded me of Natalie Goldberg, which isn’t surprising since they are both students of Zen. My favorite: “Scribble secret notebooks and wild typewritten pages for yr own joy.”
I need to start doing that again and stop already with the research. At least for now.